Page 74 of Crown of Light and Ashes
I have lost everything—my freedom, my mission, my brother, myself. For what? For nights of shameful pleasure in Kaan's arms? For the twisted satisfaction of being wanted by the monster who destroyed everything I loved?
A tapestry depicting some Shadow Court victory tears beneath my fingernails as I grab it, pulling it from its moorings with a strength born of desperation. The heavy fabric collapses around me like a shroud, and for a moment, I stand in the middle of the corridor, panting, surrounded by destruction of my own making.
What am I becoming?
Two palace guards round the corner, their expressions shifting from surprise to wariness when they see me amidst the chaos. I stare back, daring them to challenge me, almost hoping they will. Thechance to unleash physical violence, to channel this maelstrom of emotion into combat, is suddenly desperately appealing.
"Lady Nesilhan," one begins uncertainly, hand hovering near his weapon.
"Stay away from me," I warn, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears.
They exchange glances, clearly weighing their duty against the risk of confronting the Shadow Lord's volatile bride. One whispers urgently to the other, "Should we inform the Shadow Lord?" but his companion shakes his head, gesturing for them to back away. Wisdom prevails, and they retreat, leaving me alone with my storm of emotions once more.
I continue my blind flight through the palace, each turn taking me deeper into rarely used corridors where the shadows grow thicker and servants are scarce. I am not paying attention to where I am going. I just need to move, to run, to escape the crushing weight of everything I have lost.
The sound of my ragged breathing echoes off stone walls, punctuated by the occasional sob I can no longer suppress. I am unraveling, coming apart at the seams, and there is no one left to help me put myself back together.
I round a corner at full speed, too distracted to maintain my usual vigilance. Strong arms grab me from behind before I can react, one hand clamping over my mouth to stifle my startled cry. Through the haze of my emotional turmoil, I realize they must have been tracking my destructive path through the palace—following the sounds of breaking pottery and torn tapestries like breadcrumbs.
Training kicks in instantly. I drive my elbow back, aiming for my attacker's solar plexus, but they anticipate the move, twisting to avoid the worst of the impact. I prepare to stomp on their instep next,but before I can, a cloth presses against my face, its sickly sweet scent filling my lungs.
Drugged. The realization hits me as my limbs grow heavy, my reactions slowing despite my desperate struggle to break free. I try to summon my light magic, to burn whoever is holding me, but the drug works faster than my concentration.
My last conscious thought is of Kaan—that he will feel my distress through our bond, that he will come for me.
Then, darkness.
Chapter Twenty-one
The Missing Piece
Kaan
I DISMISS LADY Ayla with thinly veiled contempt as twilight deepens outside the observatory windows. Her seduction attempts grow increasingly brazen throughout the afternoon, each touch lingering, each smile promising more. Any other day, I might find her desperation entertaining. Today, it grates against my already dark mood.
"Lord Kaan," she purrs as we descend the steps. "The evening is young. Perhaps we could continue our discussions over wine in your chambers?"
My shadows coil irritably at my feet. Something about the observatory—this ancient dome where Isil and I once spent countless nights studying the stars, unsettles me deeply.
"Diplomatic matters must wait," I reply coldly. "Court business requires my attention."
She inclines her head and retreats. I watch her go, shadows writhing in agitation. The observatory was a mistake—too many ghosts I've spent centuries trying to bury.
I find myself drawn toward my private chambers instead of returning to the main hall. The anniversary of Isil's death approaches, three days from now marks two centuries since she took her life rather than witness what I am becoming. Two hundred years, and the wound remains raw.
Palace staff move aside as I pass, my shadows darkening the corridor. I barely register their presence, lost in memories I usually keep locked away. Isil's smile. Her laughter echoing through these hallways. The horror in her eyes when she realized what I was becoming.
I dismiss the guards outside my door. "I am not to be disturbed."
Alone, I sink into a chair by the fireplace, conjuring flames with a flick of my wrist. The dancing light casts shadows that almost resemble a woman's silhouette on the wall.
Isil. My first love. My greatest failure.
I should seek out Nesilhan. After claiming her so thoroughly that stone walls crack under our passion, she deserves... what? Tenderness? Conversation? These are not qualities I've cultivated over centuries of rule.
Yet something about her pulls at me—her defiance, her strength, her unexpected surrender. She is nothing like Isil. Nesilhan is fire; Isil was water, steel—silk.
I'm drawn to her in ways I haven't felt in centuries.
